


Alone

by BeyondFandoms



Series: Unchained Memory [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Electrocution, Gore, Post-Episode: e073 Triptych, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondFandoms/pseuds/BeyondFandoms
Summary: It's only rated E for the graphic violence. Kevin just wasn't having a good day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINALLY FROM MY TUMBLR ([original post](https://lessonsinsilence.tumblr.com/post/159385720447/alone))  
> —  
> So a few of the lines from [this post](https://ifyouseensomethingsaynothing.tumblr.com/post/159318681553/sentence-starters) made me think about my bby Kevin and I wrote this. Enjoy.  
> —  
>  _ **!!!CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM EPISODE 73!!!**_

_Alone._  
  
That’s how Kevin felt: _alone._ That’s what Kevin _was_ : so terribly, horribly, _unhappily_ alone. His mind seemed to be playing a perpetual loop of everything that had gone wrong and put him in this situation. He saw it all. He saw it all and he _hated_ it.  
  
He saw Carlos’s letter (before he’d ripped it to pieces), giving him all the reasons Carlos would rather be in Night Vale than stay here in this _wonderful_ new town they’d built.  
  
He saw Cecil, eyes filled with hatred. He heard Cecil’s voice, heard those words he’d never forget: _"Kevin, there is something horrifyingly wrong with you.“_

No. _No._ Kevin wasn’t _alone_ , he was _lonely_.

He didn’t understand. Really, it didn’t make any _sense_. What did _he_ do wrong? Nothing. He hadn’t done anything but what he was told to do. He _always_ did what he was told to do. It’s all he knew. He tried now to think about what he knew.

He knew what a _beautiful_ town Desert Bluffs was… and he knew he’d never be able to go back there. He knew how he _loved_ to do his broadcasts on the radio… and he knew that no one that mattered to him could hear him anymore. He knew that StrexCorp had lead him as far back as he could voluntarily remember… and he knew how _lost_ he was without it. He knew _**blood, gore, and violence**_. He knew what incredible _joys_ those things brought him. This was what he knew. This was _all_ he knew.

_Was it…?_

Kevin felt another memory come, unbidden and almost _foreign_ to him. He saw himself — no blood on his clothes, no gore in his surroundings, a look of genuine joy on his face. He seemed… _younger_ , perhaps? No, no… _Innocent_. _Naïve_ , maybe. And he heard himself talking, couldn’t believe how hopeful and jubilant he souned as his memory-self talked of… _getting rid of Strex?!_ At first, Kevin couldn’t believe it was his own self saying such _treacherous, blasphemous_ statements, but then he heard something even _less_ believable.

 _"So? Do I win? Does everything go just as right as right could be?“_  
  
His heart stopped. His blood ran cold.

_"...Yes. You win, Kevin. Everything goes right.”_

He felt a numbing coldness sweep through him. He knew how this played out.

He couldn’t stop the torrent of repressed ( _by whom?_ ) memories. He couldn’t if he tried. He didn’t try. He did nothing.

The thought hit him with the memories, making each one more painful than should be. It all came in a new light (a new darkness?), a spiral he was helpless against. He saw himself before the door of the station, as if just his _body_ could stop StrexCorp from taking over. He didn’t fight them, he just _stood there_. He saw himself awakening in a strange, bloodied room, terrified of what was next. He didn’t fight. He did nothing. _He did nothing._

The flood seemed to stop, focusing on a single memory, one of the most _**painful**_ memories he had: re-education. He remembered this. Oh, _god_ , how he remembered this. Locked away in that _terrible, horrible, prison of a room_ with no means of escape other than assimilation. It was lecture after lecture about “StrexCorp’s values,” “the _Smiling God_ ,” “smiling and hard work are important,” and on and on and _mercilessly, endlessly on_ until Kevin felt his brain couldn’t hold any more and then — _oh, and then_ — there were _quizzes_.

Kevin saw himself, could _feel_ himself undergoing those torturous quizzes. He screamed at those men — whoever they truly were that were forcing this upon him — of how he’d never believe their lies, that StrexCorp could _never_ ruin his Desert Bluffs with their _monstrous_ company practices. But they were far more powerful than him. And they, they could do whatever they pleased with him. They could break him.

_They could break him._

And they did. Lecture after lecture, question after question, they tortured him. Because he wouldn’t listen. Because he wouldn’t believe their lies. Because he wouldn’t be one of _them_. He could never give them the answers they were looking for, and being wrong meant punishment. Being wrong meant broken bones, electric shocks, beatings. The idea was that enough torture would make him submit. It didn’t. It only broke him.

Kevin remembered the first time he ever saw a _Smiling God_. He had just finished another round of quizzes, not a single one of his answers had been right. The heads of StrexCorp were getting tired of him by now, and saw that the _Smiling God_ as their only option. Upon hearing their newest plan to control him, Kevin had angrily yelled that their little _patron saint of a god_ was nothing but a lie, a false idol created to control the masses with the little _**cult**_ they’d built behind it. He told them they’d never control him, not with all the lies in the world. And he never forgot the spike of icy fear that stabbed through him upon receiving a response.

_"Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. Even false saints have power.”_

And Kevin _saw_. He saw the true form and power of a _Smiling God_ — that was _not_ a smile. No, _not at all_ was that a smile. He sat in a light that _burned_ him to be in, powerless, motionless, just _less_ before the _**terrible, incredible, awesome power**_ of the _Smiling God_.

The memory, the pain, the _power_ of the _Smiling God_ ripped through Kevin as _**mercilessly**_ as it had when it happened. He felt a sensation he’d long ago become accustomed to, one he’d forgotten was the result of that very moment in his existence. He felt his thoughts vacate him, felt his body become rigid in a momentary shutdown as all the control was taken from him and transferred to the _Smiling God_. By now, this was a welcome experience. He would lose control and be _**forced**_ to be happy. He _loved_ the thought of being happy again. He hated being sad; he was just much happier being happy.

This loss of self was how he got through each day, how he had for most of his easily-accessible memory. He could let go, be what StrexCorp and the _Smiling God_ wanted him to be. He was what _everyone_ wanted him to be. And him? He didn’t have to want anything anymore.

Kevin thought of nothing but working hard and being happy for the rest of the day. He did nothing but work hard and be happy for the rest of the day. He didn’t regain control of himself until that evening. As he sat in his new studio in the vast desert otherworld, all he could think of was the first sign of StrexCorp he ever saw: a sign, bearing the company’s name, that read:

_HE WHO DIES HERE DIES IN THE RADIANCE OF THE FUTURE, AND WE ARE ENTERING A TOMB ALL FLOODED WITH THE DAWN._

**Author's Note:**

> Btw: here's my [Tumblr](https://lessonsinsilence.tumblr.com) if you'd like to have a look!  
> If you'd like to make a [request](https://lessonsinsilence.tumblr.com/requests), here's my [request box](https://lessonsinsilence.tumblr.com/submit)!


End file.
